If We Exist

1.

One day when I was eight years old, our driver was driving me to school. On this particular day, my father was in the passenger seat, headed to work, and I was sitting in my usual seat behind our driver. It was a rainy day at the start of the semester. The wind howled and splashed the rain with great force against the windows. Every now and then, whenever the sky lit up by a flash, just before the rolling thunder, our driver would mutter superstitious-nothings in Brommin.

I had my head buried in a textbook. I don't recall the exact one, but I remember being anxious about Ms Gourdin's class, so it had to have been either English or science—both of which I was equally dreadful at. It didn't help that every boy in my year had a crush on our new teacher and wanted to impress.

I gave up reading halfway through and put the book back in my school bag. There was nothing to do but stare at the rivulets of rain cascading down the window. Either that, or actively listen to the hum from the stereo, and I hated the Brommian music our driver played. So did my father, but he was too absorbed in his paper to pay it any mind.

It was in those moments, watching as Elhem's greenery whizzed passed that I caught sight of something—a flash of blue in the otherwise dark green backdrop. As if on cue, our driver cursed, hitting the brake, causing my neck to whiplash and the car to skid.

- What's the matter?

- You didn't see the boy? Our driver asked, glancing at the rearview mirror. Our eyes caught briefly before he adjusted his view to see what I assumed could only be a person.

My father tried to peer out his side of the window, but it was on the wrong side of the road.

- On the road? He inquired. - In this weather?

It was only when the driver manually rolled down his window, as you did back in those days, that both my father and I saw the boy bicycle past us. With a voice that betrayed his surprise, my father told the driver to call for the boy. In the meantime, I had the sense to notice that the boy had on a similar school uniform, and without having to exert much brainpower, I knew without a doubt who he was.

I felt a twinge of nervous energy race through me. The driver rolled up beside the bicyclist, going at about the same speed. He had shouted to him once before but the boy hadn't heard him over the howling winds. When he did it this time, he looked back at our driver, startled to notice the car's proximity. I unbuckled my seatbelt and scooted further out on my seat to catch the exchange of words.

It didn't surprise me to hear them speak in Brommin since the boy was from the outskirts of town, from a settlement in the flatlands belonging to some Brommian farmers. His name was Yuri Karamov, and he was in my parallel class. We also considered him a bumpkin since he had repeated a year. The thought of arriving at school in the same car as him made me queasy.

The exchange was brief, and to my short-lived relief, it had at one point even seemed like his stubbornness had convinced the driver he wasn't worth the trouble. Unbeknownst to me, the driver slowed down to a complete halt and rolled up his window. I was too preoccupied with scooting back to the backrest to notice that the boy had abandoned his bike on the side of the road. Before I knew it, the door to my side flew open, exposing me to the elements.

Rain speckled my bare kneecaps. A gust of wind tousled my hair. But my surprise was nothing compared to his. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. I didn't greet him. I did as my father said and scooted to the other side to give him some room in the backseat.

His jacket was dripping wet, staining the seat a dark grey colour. He smelt faintly of wet, unprocessed wool, which was to say he smelt like a sheep farm. I imagined not much of him was dry since he had ventured out in this weather on a bicycle. The flatlands were very far away and I remember thinking, he's not only a country bumpkin, he's crazy.

- What on earth would possess you to head out in this weather? My father asked. Our driver grumbled in agreement.

The boy wouldn't look up at my father, who returned to his newspaper after adding a curt, - I hope you won't do it again.

At some point, my father must have realised that Yuri was a student at my school, and maybe he even recognised who he was (we lived in a small town and Yuri's parents were probably the people we bought our milk and bread from). So it didn't make much sense to scold him since the bicycle was his only mode of transportation.

Yuri didn't say anything, and I was thankful that he hadn't verbally acknowledged my presence. That meant I could ignore him in school without making it awkward.

He sat motionless, not bothering to put on his seatbelt. I wondered if he knew how to use one. Some upperclassmen taunted him because of the way he read. Stuttering and adding long pauses for comic effect to show that he was worse than a first-year student. If it was true, did he really know how to buckle up?

His hands lay fisted in his lap. As much I was trying to ignore him, my curiosity insistently drew my gaze to his frame. His hood was still drawn over his head and every so often a drop of water would fall on his stained trousers. His jacket was a hand-me-down, the colours dulled by repeated washes; the sleeves fraying at the hems. He was tall, but he lacked what Eline would've called posture. He never looked me directly in the eyes, even at school, and I got the sense that he didn't quite dare.

I was eight years old, but the overriding sense that I still get from remembering that car ride is that even at that age, something had conditioned me to feel sorry for him. I felt his misfortune like a second layer of clothing, and I didn't like it. My hands fisted, and before I could process it, I was saying, - Hey, grabbing his attention.

I instantaneously regretted it. His eyes were the clearest shade of blue I had ever seen. They were two piercing crystals framed by his contrasting pale skin and dark hair and thick eyebrows.

- D-Do you know me? I spat out. My stomach did somersaults, rearranging my organs.

- No. His expression was neutral, and he would have seemed otherwise unaffected had it not been that he wouldn't, or for whatever reason, didn't dare hold my gaze. His eyes returned to stare at the back of our driver's head.

- I'm Ru Konstantin. I'm in Ms Gourdin's class. 2F.

I waited for him to acknowledge that we went to the same school and had even come face to face a few unfortunate times. If I really thought about it, I couldn't have told you the people Yuri befriended. I didn't know a lot about those in my parallel class. All I knew was what everyone else whispered about them in the hallways. It was a class filled with Brommian, and it went without saying that they weren't very liked at school.

- Yuri Karamov. 2E.

Curt, gruff, evasive, coupled with that he wouldn't look at me—he was rude. I must have been expecting something else because a feeling kin to vexation weighed my jaw. My inability to think of something that would give me the upper hand made my teeth clench. I returned my gaze to the window.

When I dared cast a glance his way again after some time, I saw a flicker of movement, indicating he'd been looking at me without me knowing it. A peculiar feeling came over my stomach and I had to curl my toes to stop the restless flutter from affecting me.

Fortunately, when our driver dropped us off, few kids were out in the schoolyard. I stepped out of the car and strode the short distance towards the entrance without so much as sparing a backwards glance. Truth be told, being seen with him mortified me. And for reasons unknown to me at that age, I knew I'd be better off if I didn't bring up the ride at school.